Set Apart
by Foxieglove
Summary: An alternative take on James Barrie's novel . . .and his identity . . . (has elements from the cartoon show as well)


Set Apart

  
I suppose I should start with introductions. Wendy always told me it was slightly rude not to tell a person my name before addressing them, and even though you're the reader and not a person I'm meeting on the street, I still owe you some courtesies.  
  
My name is Samuel Whitting. It is now, anyways. Before that, it was Slightly. I was a lost boy in a place called Neverland before I came here with Wendy. You've probably heard of Neverland in a book called 'Peter Pan' written by James Barrie. James Barrie is a brainless sot.  
  
How dare I say this, you might ask? Because I know the person behind the pen-name James Barrie. He was one of my Lost Boy comrades; a boy called Nibs. He always sided with Peter, hated the pirates, was Peter's second in command, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Well, on to more interesting things.  
  
Nib's account of Neverland was the most one-sided document I have ever read. But it was popular. Of course it was. Nibs made the pirates ten times more bloodthirsty than they really were. He even made Billy Jukes into a muscle-bound, tattooed killer, although he knew full well Billy was a boy his age; no more guilty of cold-blooded murder than Nibs himself.  
  
Having completely mutilated the good points of the pirates' personalities (although, he didn't have to tweak Hook's character all _that_ much) Nibs ensured that the children reading 'Peter Pan' would root for none other than Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. The filthy bugger. Forgive me, I'm getting slightly worked up. It just makes my blood boil how one could get away so easily with lying to children.  
  
I know this story can never be published. I would be locked away, either for plagiarism or insanity. But it can be read and passed on through the generations. All I want is for the truth to come out. Billy, Captain Hook, and Mullins; all the pirates, in fact, deserve better than the reputation Nibs gave them. If what you read here makes you doubt me, please remember . . . there are three sides to every story. This story is as close to the truth as you will ever get.  
  
With that said, I will start my tale in the part of the story in which Nibs changed and corrupted the most. The final battle between the pirates and Peter Pan. It was a night I shall never forget . . .  
  


* * *

  
The air was chill and the night seemed as though it was spread all throughout Neverland with no hope of daybreak. On the deck of the pirate ship, we Lost Boys and Wendy were tied to the mast. Hook loomed before us, only his eyes and his hook reflecting the lantern lights.  
  
I struggled against my bonds futilely as Hook reveled in his victory. I had never thought this day would come, but all of us knew it had to some time. The day of retribution. The day when the pirates and the lost boys would decide who would win and who would die. With us all tied to the mast, Hook was easily winning this round.  
  
"It's slightly irritating for him to gloat this way," I thought to myself. "Why doesn't he just kill us?"  
  
A gloomy mindset? Perhaps. It was about to be the worst day - possibly the last day - of my life. From across the deck, I knew Jukes was just as frightened as I was. His eyes bore into mine, either begging forgiveness or trying to come up with any idea to save us. I hoped fervently it was the latter.  
  
All of us were depressed and on the verge of tears. Peter was dead, poisoned by Hook, and what upset us most about it was the fact that he had died helpless. No-one could fight poison . . . not the way Peter fought. It was a pathetic death, and I remembered hating Hook for it from the bottom of my soul.  
  
"Now that your leader is dead," Hook purred, "You're nothing but mere children. Scattered and lost without a clue as to how you'll go about your lives. Perhaps, you should look upon your deaths as a final act of mercy from me. For today, you boys are truly lost!"  
  
Beside me, Michael struggled in his bonds and began to whimper. Michael always cried. At everything. But this time, I really couldn't blame him. Hook's eyes were gleaming and I wondered whether he'd gone mad. If you looked into those eyes, at first all you might see is bloodshed and wild glee. But if you looked deeper, you could see that Hook was hating himself for his final act of cowardice. Hating himself for the fact that he couldn't kill Peter in fair combat with the point of his sword. In the end, he had resorted to poison; a pathetic, ungruesome, and cowardly way of killing someone he had hunted for countless years.  
  
He knew we knew it too. And maybe that's why he was so hell-bent on making us Lost Boys suffer.  
  
Hook put the tip of his claw to Wendy's throat and was about to threaten her with something when we all heard a ticking sound . . . much like a clock.  
  
"It's the crocodile!" Smee yelped and Hook looked about in alarm, brandishing his sword helplessly.  
  
"Where?! Where is it, Smee?" he demanded, panic in his voice.  
  
"It's comin from this way, Cap'n!"  
  
Hook spun around jabbing at the darkness blindly. It was still night-time and the lanterns on deck did little to drive back the black of night.  
  
Abruptly the ticking stopped and there was a collective sigh of relief. Several of the boys started whispering among themselves excitedly. Apparently, they had seen something I hadn't. When Hook turned back to us, we shushed hurriedly.  
  
"Think that was amusing, don't you?" He growled, infuriated at letting us see his fear.  
  
"No," we answered, shaking our heads. Nibs, damn him, had a slight smirk on his face.  
  
"You lying miscreants!" Hook fumed. "I'll teach you to laugh at me!" He backhanded Nibs so hard that even I winced with sympathy. Then he struck me!  
  
Foolish as only a child can be, I glared at Hook and demanded, "What was that for, you great codfish? I didn't do anything!"  
  
"Shut up Slightly!" my friends yelled, but it was too late. Billy looked at me, terror in his eyes. It was Billy's gaze that let me know I had gone too far.  
  
"Did you call me a Codfish?" Hook snarled, his voice dangerously low.  
  
"Um . . . yes," I answered uncertainly, and immediately braced myself for another blow. Hook laughed then and turned around to face his men. "Jukes!" he barked, and my pirate friend jumped guiltily.  
  
"Aye Captain?" he answered, voice shaking.  
  
"Fetch the cat!"  
  
Billy's eyes widened. "Captain, you can't --"  
  
"I can't _what_, Mr. Jukes?" Hook asked threateningly, and raised his sparkling hook.  
  
Jukes was trembling all over. He looked at me, then he looked at Hook who was glaring back at him. Once more he turned his gaze to me, as if pleading for my forgiveness. Hook made a menacing move toward him and he ran toward the cabin to obey his Captain.  
  
"Now, boys, I believe you've all earned yourself five lashes each."  
  
"No, no, please!" the other boys begged and Michael started to cry again.  
  
"Captain Hook," I was beginning to protest. It was my fault, after all. My friends shouldn't have to pay for my words. Tootles was weeping quietly and I felt sick with guilt. "Please don't hurt them, it was me who ---"  
  
My plea for mercy was interrupted by a scream of agony. _Jukes . . ._  
  
"No!" I yelled wildly, struggling against my bonds. I didn't know what happened, only that he was in pain if not dead and I had to help him. The other Lost Boys looked at me, confused and I avoided their gaze. Anguished, I stopped my struggling. Fortunately for me, Hook and the other pirates hadn't noticed my outcry. They were too busy panicking. Hook rapped on the door. "Jukes! What happened? Answer immediately!"  
  
Mullins shoved past him with a lantern and wrenched open the door. Whatever he saw made him gasp with terror. "Billy!" he yelled and rushed in. I wanted to scream out a warning to Mullins, but I never got the chance. Another pirate had fallen before I even opened my mouth.  
  
"Come out, you coward! Whoever you are, face me!" Hook bellowed, infuriated, drawing his sword.  
  
Hook had invited no-one lesser than the devil himself. A dark shape sprinted out of the cabin, cutting the Captain across the chest as it did so. Hook cried out in pain, bit his lip as he gathered his resolve, and prepared to battle. All at once, we felt out bonds being cut and wooden swords were pressed into our hands. The boys lunged forward, ready to do battle with our rescuers - the Indians, I later found out - by our sides.  
  
I truly apologize, but I cannot tell you how the battle went on. I did not participate in it. Instead, my eyes wandered to the dark cabin where Jukes and Mullins lay silent within. With a trembling hand, I dropped my sword, picked up a lantern, and walked inside.  
  
The weak light did little to help me, for I tripped over an overturned chair and fell down. The lantern rolled away, flame flickering wildly. Blindly, I crawled forward and my hand touched human flesh. I heard a soft groan and I knew it was Billy.  
  
"Jukes?" I asked softly. The boy moaned again and opened his eyes. They were glistening with tears.  
  
"Mullins?" he asked weakly. "Is he . . .?"  
  
"I . . . I don't know."  
  
I picked the lantern up and looked around. What I saw made me gag and turn away. I knelt beside Jukes and tried to gather him in my arms. He struggled for a moment, then relaxed against me as he sensed the truth in my silence. "He's dead . . . isn't he?"  
  
"Yes," I answered brokenly. "Jukes, I'm so sorry . . ." A hot tear fell from my eye and landed on Jukes' bloodied cheek. I wiped it away and he looked up at me, clear-eyed.  
  
Memories came back to me of how hard we had worked together to save Mullins from a high fever. It had been an adventure that had cemented our unusual friendship. A friendship hidden in the dark of night to avoid persecution and death . . . and now it was ending in the same darkness that had helped to preserve it.  
  
Jukes' eyes were brimming over with tears for Mullins, but he blinked them back forcefully. He never had admitted to crying over _anything._ He was that kind of boy.  
  
"I s-suppose I'll be joining him shortly . . ." Jukes murmured, without bitterness.  
  
"Don't say that!" I gasped. "I can't lose you! Not like this!"  
  
"It doesn't . . . hurt that much. I promise."  
  
"Billy, don't!" I sobbed, burying my face in my hands.  
  
"Hey," Jukes chided me, using the last of his strength to reach up and brush my tears away. "Are you a boy or a girl? Come on now, Slightly. I told you this is how I was going to go . . . on a pirate ship. Remember?"  
  
"I don't want you to die at _all!_" I wailed. I felt foolish then. Jukes was the one that was dying, not me. I should have been the one comforting _him_.  
  
I sighed and held him close. "Thank you," he breathed. "I . . . I was so afraid of dying alone . . ."  
  
"I'll never forget you, Jukes," was all I managed to say before grief overtook me and made me lose my voice completely.  
  
"Don't cry . . . we're free now. When Peter kills us all . . . we'll be free of this place . . . have lives of our own . . ."  
  
To be honest, I had thought he was rambling. Brokenhearted, I held him until he breathed his last. The battle was still raging on outside, I could hear it. I knew who was winning. _You_ already knew who won before you even started reading this.  
  
With that in mind, there is no point in telling how Hook and the other pirates died, other than it was quick and merciful. I was forced to listen as Peter gave one of his triumphant crows. It is something that I have never, to this day, forgiven Peter for. I was grateful for my life, but at the same time, ungrateful.  
  
He didn't have to kill them - _any_ of them. He probably doesn't even know what it _is_ to kill someone. He'll never feel the loss I felt in that cabin. Never. But I don't curse him for it, because I know he'll never know the joy of making a true friend. The closest he ever came to one is Tinkerbell. She _died_ for him, and he's most likely forgotten her name.  
  
I left Neverland and flew with Wendy and her brothers to the Darling household. We promised that we _would_ grow up and I almost laughed. I _had_ grown up. Wendy was the one who noticed it first. She noticed how I always sat apart from the other boys as if loathe to play with them. She noticed how I preferred to read on my own. She noticed that sometimes I cried silently to myself for no apparent reason at all.   
  
Only once did she ask me about it, but I didn't answer her. I wanted to, but I was afraid she wouldn't understand. My friendship with Jukes had been forbidden. Thus, it had ended in violence and pain. I felt sometimes as though I had cursed him by befriending him, but then I would hear his voice in my heart telling me that I was being slightly ridiculous. His friendship is what set me apart from the other boys. His friendship had made me more open-minded than some adults even.  
  
Sometimes, this got me in trouble in Sunday school. I would quiz the teacher, rather than vice versa, when we went over the Ten Commandments. "What if you were starving?" I would demand, when my teacher lectured the vices of stealing. "What if your children were starving and you couldn't get a job? God surely wouldn't mind if you stole a slight piece of bread to save your life! He is a caring God, isn't he?"   
  
Needless to say, I was teased and scolded a lot for my strange ethics. Only Wendy seemed to understand me. Thinking back on her, I know why Nibs wrote so endearingly about Wendy. The poor old bugger had a crush on her for the longest time, but she went and married a toy maker. When I heard the news, I couldn't help but laugh in glee. Cruel of me? Yes, perhaps. But if you couldn't tell by now, I never did like him.  
  
It wasn't until two years after I had left Neverland that I saw someone who I thought I would never see again . . .  
  
I was on my way to the grocery to pick up a food order for the Darlings when I quite literally ran into a group of boys my age. "Watch it!" one of them snapped in a thick Brooklyn accent, glaring at me. His light-brown hair was pulled back with two strands going wild on either side. "You got a problem?" he demanded, glaring at me.  
  
"Bob, leave him alone wouldja?" said another boy and when I looked at him, I could scarcely believe my eyes. This boy looked exactly like . . .   
  
"Billy Jukes?" I heard myself asking, and I immediately cursed myself for my stupidity.  
  
"Naw, I'm Billy Jenkins," the raven-haired boy said pleasantly, though his other companions snickered at my mistake. "Close enough, though. Have we met?" he asked, tilting his head. "You look awful familiar. I think your name might've been . . . Sly . . . Sly-something or other. No, that's not it. Um . . . "  
  
"While I'd hate to interrupt this 'charming' little reunion, I'd like to play some baseball _this_ year, if you don't mind!" interrupted one of his other companions, a pale blonde boy with sharp blue eyes.  
  
"Aw, shut up, James," Billy said, good-naturedly. "Hey, you want to play with us? We need a fourth baseman."  
  
"_Third_ baseman, Jenkins, how many times to I have to tell you?" yelled Bob, swatting him.  
  
"Excuse me! Are we going to play or not?" sniffled another boy with a long nose and greased-back black hair.  
  
"In a minute, Iggie. We're still waiting for Alfred Maser, Eustace Cooker, and Steve," Bob told him. "Then I can explain the rules _again_ so you British wankers can understand 'em!"  
  
"Who are you calling a 'British wanker', you yellow-bellied Yankee?! Just because you moved here from America, don't think that gives you the right to give lip to me!" James cried, shoving Bob. The two immediately set to brawling while Iggie, equally offended, shouted encouragement to James.  
  
Billy Jenkins turned back to me and shrugged. "Ah, I'm not gettin' involved. I'm not even British. So, what _is_ your name anyway?"  
  
"My name's, er, Samuel. But you can call me Slightly."  
  
"Slightly . . . you know, I think that was it." Billy looked at me then, as if he had known me all along. He smiled, and I grinned back.  
  
Now I knew what he had meant when he said he was free. When Peter had killed them, he had freed their souls from their entrapment in Neverland. He had given them new lives, unknowingly. So in the end . . . the pirates hadn't lost after all.  
  
"Come on," said Billy, offering his brown-skinned hand to me. "Once they're done bickering, Bob'll explain the rules to you."  
  
"Don't worry. I know how to play baseball."  
  
"That's great! Look, there's Alfred and Steve heading toward us. I guess Eustace is still feeling a little sick from food-poisoning. I swear, that kid's mom needs to learn how to cook. She's gonna wind up _killin'_ him!"  
  
Billy put an arm around my shoulder and led me toward the fields, while Bob, Iggie and James were still having their row.  
  
Billy Jenkins is married now, and we contact each other frequently. I asked him once, over the telephone, if he had ever heard of Neverland. He had paused for a while, and I had wondered if I had offended him in some way. Then, he said, "Yes, I do remember it. I got nightmares after reading the book. I dreamed me and Bob and the other kids we used to hang out with were on that ship and . . . oh, never mind, it's silly."  
  
I never asked him about it again.  
  
This is my story, then, as you have read. I was once a lost boy, and my best friend was a pirate. A completely uncouth tale, but a true one. Please don't scoff at it if you think it's impossible. Although it's the truth, I do not demand you to believe it. It's your choice, after all.  
  
  
~Sincerely~  
Samuel Whitting,  
(a.k.a: Slightly Soiled) 


End file.
